


Once Upon a Memory

by AbaddonsLittleWItch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Curse, Eventual Smut, F/M, wish verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8774227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbaddonsLittleWItch/pseuds/AbaddonsLittleWItch
Summary: The residents of Storybrooke are returned to the Enchanted Forest after the Evil Queen uses Aladdin to make Emma’s wish to never be the savior come true. Killian, for some reason, maintains his memories and he immediately makes his way to Emma, determined to make her remember him and their love and get them home.(super loosely inspired by 6.10)





	1. Surrender

_Yo ho, haul together_

_Hoist the colors high_

As Captain Killian “Hook” Jones directed his ship toward the mouth of the busiest harbor in the Enchanted Forest he had one thing on his mind: Emma. Somehow that blasted Queen had made Emma’s wish to never be the savior come true. As soon as the words had left Emma’s mouth a whorl of golden magic had engulfed the town and deposited everyone in a version of the Enchanted Forest that had never been cursed in the first place.

Or at least, some of them had landed in the Enchanted Forest. Killian, Smee, and the Jolly had landed off the coast of Arendelle, which they only discovered after spending three days sailing to the nearest port and asking the only other sailor on the dock, a wizened toothless fisherman far past his prime, where the hell they were. It had then taken nearly twenty minutes for them to figure where exactly in Arendelle they were since the fisherman had apparently never seen a map (how he went out and sailed without using a map Killian didn’t know, but he didn’t stick around to find out).

Now, after three weeks of sailing to the southern coast of the Enchanted Forest and another two sailing farther north to the biggest, busiest port, Killian was finally close to getting his plan underway. He held no illusion that Emma would remember any of their time in Storybrooke, despite the fact that he could for some reason, but he would be damned back to the Underworld (again) before he didn’t fight to remind her. Five weeks without her was five far too long and he lamented the time it had taken him to even get here, and who knew if he’d be able to reach her memories at all after she’d now spent just over a month in the Enchanted Forest?

He shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts away. _“Stop. Worrying about it won’t fix it. All I can do now is try to get her back.”_

He tried to direct his thoughts to more pleasant things, like what they would do after she got her memories back. They didn’t necessarily have to go back to Storybrooke. If he could get her to remember him, maybe he could convince her to sail around this world with him. He could take her on grand adventures, weigh anchor at a small island and show her how to survive on it, perhaps teach her sword play if she hadn’t yet learned it here. He could show her his life, the life he had here that she’d never gotten to see in Storybrooke. And Henry was getting older and growing into a fine man, he didn’t need Emma like he did before, so it could be just the two of them. Still, since he knew it would please Emma, they could even take the lad with them every so often. They could be a proper family here.

But none of that would be possible if he couldn’t get this plan underway. First thing first, he needed to get himself arrested.

He shook himself out of his daydreams to shout to his first mate and get things in motion.

“Mr. Smee!” His voice rang out over the deck to where Smee sat on a barrel of dried fish whittling a piece of wood. He looked up, a dark scowl prominent on his face.

“Aye, Cap’n?”

Killian glanced down at him, noted the displeased expression, and rolled his eyes.

“Wipe that look of your face, Smee. I’m well aware you don’t understand or like this plan and as I told you before, I don’t particularly care. Now, prepare us to dock, we’re nearly there. And you remember what to do once I’m captured?”

Smee sighed and stood, pocketed his knife and made his way up to where Killian stood at the helm.

“Aye. Listen, Cap’n, you know I’m not one to question your orders –“

Killian snorted, “You could have fooled me, Smee.”

“- but I have to say, again, this is the most inadvisable plan you’ve ever come up with!”

“And again, _I_ must say that I don’t care. Now follow my orders as I’ve dictated them or I'll be finding myself a new Quartermaster. And hoist the colors! I want them to know exactly who we are as we sail in.”

Smee looked at his Captain for a moment before shuffling off to follow his orders. Killian grinned devilishly as the red flag was raised and maintained their course straight into the harbor that would take him to Emma. He hadn’t simply chosen this port because it was the biggest; it was also the one that sat closest to the castle, mere miles away. He could see the turrets and towers of the castle in the distance and could easily imagine Emma sitting at a window in one, wearing a flowing blue gown and a corset, hair in a loose braid, looking out to sea and smelling the salt air. Perhaps she’d bring a book with her to relax and listen to the gulls singing, the ships creaking, and the men shouting in the harmony of a busy port.

He kept that image fixed in his head as he hummed Hoist the Colors to himself and sailed them in. When they were finally docked a cocoon of silence spread like a tidal wave over the pier, originating from him as he walked down the gangplank; it was the only thing that kept him putting one in foot in front of the other. He reached the end of the dock and closed his eyes for a moment as the guards started rushing towards him and the other sailors ducked out of their way, clearing a space for what they assumed would be a fight. He pictured Emma’s smile when she had asked him to move in and felt his own mouth tilt up; he heard the sound of her laugh, felt her lips brushing softly against his, felt the silkiness of her hair as he tangled his fingers in it. He even smelled her shampoo and the leather of her favorite jacket and he held on tightly to those sensations as he took a deep breath. In the loudest voice he could muster, he sent another shock wave over the now rather large crowd gathered around him.

“Greetings, gentlemen! I am Captain Hook, terror of the realms. I fly the red flag, give no quarter, and am a pirate through and through,” he paused and shifted his gaze to look directly at who he presumed to be in charge and lowered his voice. “And I am here to turn myself in.”

—————————————-

Miles away in the training yard of the castle grounds, Emma, completely oblivious to the plight of poor Captain Hook, was locked in a fierce sword fight with Sir Lancelot while her parents sat nearby having afternoon tea. They had been going at it for nearly an hour; much of Emma’s hair had long since escaped its braid and flew around her face with every twist and parry. How she could still see well enough to perform a perfectly timed block and thrust Lancelot didn’t know; he was having trouble just trying to keep the sweat from dripping into his eyes (a task he was painfully failing at). They were supposed to be fighting until first blood, but so far neither had been able to get close enough to land a blow; they were too evenly matched. Lancelot, after all, had been the one to train Emma in sword play so she knew all of his mannerisms as well as he knew hers.

So caught up were they both in the clang of steel on steel and the light taunts intended to knock the other off their game (“Come on, Emma, at least put some effort into it!” “It’s not my fault you’ve gotten slow in your old age, Lancelot!”) that neither noticed when a harassed looking guard ran up to Queen Snow and King David at full speed. He stopped before them and dropped into a quick bow before wheezing out “Your Majesties! Captain Hook! 'e’s here, in the Enchanted Forest! And…'e’s turned himself in!”

Emma and Lancelot froze with their swords in the air and swiveled their heads to stare at the guard who was looking expectantly at King David who had his eyes glued to Snow.

Snow looked from her husband to the guard and disbelievingly inquired, "Captain… _the_ Captain Hook? Surrendered?”

“Aye, ma’am! They guards from the docks 'ave taken ‘im to the dungeons! But…” He paused, glanced at Emma, who had lowered her blade, and coughed lightly, “'e…'e’s requesting an audience, ma’am.”

Snow didn’t miss the pause or the glance at Emma. She folded her hands in her lap to hide the fact that they had balled into fists and feigned ignorance.

“An audience with who?”

The guard didn’t answer right away, merely standing in place and shuffling his feet a little until David finally spoke up.

“Out with it, man! If he wants an audience it must be with us, right?”

The guard shook his head slowly then turned and addressed Emma.

“'e’s requested an audience with you, princess. Says 'e’ll speak only to you.”

Emma’s eyes widened; why would this pirate want to speak with her? It was her parents who held his fate in their hands, not her, and the law clearly stated that pirates were to be hung. What did he possibly think he would get by talking to her? But, then again, what harm could come from speaking to man who, barring significant interference, would be dead the next morning? She shrugged, sheathed her sword in the scabbard on her belt, and began walking towards the castle, David and Snow hot on her heels.


	2. Hanging

The dungeon sat on the opposite side of the castle from the training yard. It wasn’t a path Emma walked often but it was one that she easily remembered: past the throne room (where her parents had to stay and deal with more mundane matters), through the dining room and down the steps on the left to pass through the kitchen until she hit the storage rooms, a quick right, and then straight on until the windows ended and the floor started to slope downwards, finally ending in a small square room comprised of four individual cells. It wasn’t a pleasant place to be; the walls were damp with condensation and mildew, a handful of torches spaced around brought just enough light to see by, straw drifted from the piles in the cells (the best prisoners got for a bed) to be strewn across the floor, and the entire place smelled of old blood, unwashed bodies, and urine. Emma wrinkled her nose as her eyes adjusted to the low light and she caught sight of one lonely guard sitting at a rough hewn table playing cards. He shifted his eyes up, nodded minutely, mumbled “Your Highness”, and pointed to his right at the very last cell. Emma followed to where he pointed and found the “fearsome” Captain Hook laying on his back, arms behind his head and softly snoring. She arched her eyebrow and turned to look at the guard again.

“ _This_ is Captain Hook?”

The guard didn’t even look up. He merely nodded and gestured to the pegs on the wall behind him where Hook’s affects had been stored and among them Emma spied a gleaming silver hook, confirming the man’s identity. She humphed softly and turned back to stare at the pirate who was apparently comfortable enough in this dank dungeon to be taking a nap.

Emma had never actually seen the Captain before, though, like the rest of the kingdom, she’d heard the stories of his exploits and crimes. While they had all spoken of how fierce he was, how he sailed under a red flag and gave no quarter, how he had killed numerous men by curving his hook through their throats, not a single one had bothered to mention that was almost painfully handsome. His hair was dark, nearly black, thick and soft looking, a small part swooping artfully above his forehead. It seemed almost….fluffy, if one could use that word to describe hair, and Emma was seized with the strange urge to reach out and see if it was as soft and light as it looked. Instead, her hands curled around the bars as she leaned closer to take in the rest of him.  
His eyes were closed, long dark lashes made darker against his skin. His features were calm, peaceful looking in his sleep, though she doubted he often looked that way (likely his lips were more frequently curved in a smirk while he delivered a scathing remark than they were slightly turned down and parted as he breathed deeply). Small sideburns faded into light stubble that framed his strong jaw and ended in small goatee and moustache, accentuating his mouth perfectly. His strong neck was framed by the high collar of his black shirt and leather vest. Bright silver buttons adorned the shirt and they must have been for show because further down both shirt and vest split into a deep vee, displaying a large portion of his chest and the thick hair covering it. She refused to allow her eyes to linger there, instead forcing them to flow down to his waist where a large belt was held together with a massive buckle (really, who needed a buckle that big?), over his hips and legs which were encased in more sinfully tight leather, all the way to his old well-worn boots.

Emma sighed. He was gorgeous, that was certain, but he was still a murderous pirate and she couldn’t just stand there and stare at him all day. She told herself she would wake him in a moment to ask him exactly what it was he wanted of her, that she just wanted to admire him for little bit, that she certainly didn’t feel any kind of strange magnetic pull to him. What she had failed to notice during her perusal of his person, however, was that his breath had lightened and his eyes had opened and he was watching her as she watched him.

She was still gazing him over, trying to figure out why seeing him locked up made her chest feel oddly tight, when a deep baritone voice with a slight lilt to it washed over her.

“Bad form to stare at a man while he’s sleeping, Swan.”

She started and jerked her head up to face him, meeting his eyes, and her breath caught in her throat. They were unlike any she’d seen before, the color the deep blue of the ocean before a storm, twinkling with some hidden mirth. They held her captive as he stood gracefully and came to stand in front of her, the look in them full of passion and longing. No one had ever looked at her like that before, as though they wanted to devour her with a kiss. It certainly wasn’t look she had ever expected to see directed at her from the notorious Captain Hook and it unnerved her; more so when his hand was suddenly upon her own, his fingers wrapping around hers, warm and calloused and sending tingles up her arm.

He smiled at her, a real smile, not a smirk or a laugh, and it lit up his face. She had been wrong before. This man wasn’t handsome or even gorgeous; he was beautiful.

“Hello, love.”

A sudden pain shot through Emma’s head at his words and she winced and suddenly she wasn’t standing in front of Captain Hook in the dungeon of her castle.

_She was sitting in front of a desk at a sheriff’s station and there was a knock at the door, the sharp sound of metal hitting wood calling her attention. She turned and there stood Hook, concern written all over his face. It was as if he had known she was upset and had appeared to offer comfort and god she was never going to get used to someone caring about her as much as he did._

“Hello, love. You seem vexed.”

“Taken your breath away, have I, Swan?”

With a gasp Emma came back to herself, belatedly realizing that she had been standing stock still and staring, not even reacting to the fact that he was gently running his index finger over hers, sending lightning through her as he did. She jerked her hand away (refusing to acknowledge how cold it suddenly felt) and stepped back from him, adopting a cold demeanor to hide how shaken she was. She didn’t know what she had seen or why (had it been a vision? No, not possible, she didn’t have magic or visions) and her head was still aching and suddenly all she wanted to be out of this disgusting dungeon and away from him.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that. I don’t know who this ‘Swan’ is and I certainly am not familiar enough with you for you call me anything other than ‘Your Majesty’.”

Killian started at her tone; it wasn’t one she’d used with him since before Neverland. He lowered his eyes and leaned his forehead against his arm, reminding himself that the woman standing in front of him wasn’t his Emma before he spoke again.

“Aye, Your Majesty. I apologize.”

Emma stared at him; it had not been the reaction she expected. This man seemed to be nothing like the stories told, each word and action suggesting that he was much more than the blood thirsty pirate captain he was made out to be. For the first time it stuck Emma that perhaps, although they were truthful about the events, the stories of his personality had been exaggerated. She shook her head at the thought; he was bound for the hang man’s noose and it wouldn’t do to take even the smallest of a liking to him.

“What is it you wanted of me?”

He gave a sad smile and glanced up, eyes roving over her, drinking her in like he was a parched man and she the first goblet of water he’d seen.

“I simply wanted to see you before my trial, Your Majesty.”

His response made no sense whatsoever, nor did the look in his eyes. Unless she had a secret life she was completely unaware of, she had never met the man before.

“Why? I don’t even know you.”

His eyes dropped from her to stare back down at the ground. He couldn’t tell her yet; it was too early and she would never believe him.

“I have my reasons, Majesty. I promise you’ll find out in due time.”

With that cryptic response, he turned his back on her, laid back down on his straw pile, folded his arms behind his head, and closed his eyes. Emma gaped at him for a few more moments before promptly turning around and making her way back across the castle to her rooms. She was still sweaty from her practice with Lancelot, her hair was a ragged, tangled mess, and right now she wanted nothing more than to wash off the weirdness of the afternoon.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been several hours since Emma left him. The guard had changed, supper, if it could be called that, had come and gone, and presumably night had fallen. While she had been busy staring openly at him, he’d taken the time to finally behold his Swan again for the first time in over a month. She had been as beautiful as ever, even when she was wearing what appeared to be a dirty training outfit: black leather boots laced up to her knees over soft grey pants, the sleeves of a white linen shirt just visible under a dark blue vest, and well-worn black gloves covered her hands, the leather stretched tight as her they gripped the bars of his cell. A belt with a sword attached that hung about her waist completed the outfit (and dashed his hopes of teaching her swordplay). She had clearly come directly from practicing; her face flushed a beautiful pink, eyes bright with the fire he so loved, hair half fallen out of a braid. The desperate longing to feel it running through his fingers as he brushed his lips over hers and pulled her closer had coursed through him and he’d glanced away, worried he might try to act on the impulse.

But when he’d finally spoken up and she had looked at him, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from enveloping her hand with his own. He’d been thankful when she had finally pulled away and distanced herself; it gave him room to clear his head and remember what he was doing. He’d been mostly honest with her when he said he didn’t want anything from her. All he’d wanted was to see her and give her a chance to see him, secretly hoping that she would remember him and stop the execution. She hadn’t given any indication before leaving that she did, but there was still a little time, and if it came right down to it he knew how to get himself out of a hang man’s noose. It would change his plans a bit to have to escape on his own, but not by much.

He rolled over on his straw bed, trying to get comfortable, repeatedly going over his plan rather than letting himself linger on thoughts of possibly hanging. He conjured up another image of Emma, of having her snuggled safely against him in their bed, and her face was the last thing on his mind as he finally drifted off.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning came much sooner than Killian would have liked, heralded by an irate guard who shook him roughly and waited approximately five seconds for him to open his eyes before grabbing him and pulling him to his feet. His arms were yanked behind his back and rope was tied around his elbows, immobilizing them. A second rope was wrapped around his wrist and connected to the other, ensuring that wouldn’t be able to escape. Once his arms were secure the guard grabbed his elbow and started tugging him towards the door. After stumbling for a moment with tiredness Killian finally got his feet under him and followed the guard through the castle to a rather large stone court yard situated behind the castle. He squinted against the glare of the morning sun and had been half dragged up a wooden hanging platform before his eyes finally adjusted. He took in the scene before him as he stood before the noose, waiting for it to be placed around his neck.

David, Snow, and Emma were sitting before him, close enough that he could clearly see their expressions, while citizens of the kingdom stood in a crowd around the platform he was on, shouting their glee at his imminent demise. David, though not expressing joy at the fall of Captain Hook, was looking at him with something bordering on hate (Killian smirked a smidge at his expression and thought “I’ll get him to come around again”). Snow looked surprisingly serene, likely distancing herself from the events in an effort to protect herself from the emotional toil, and Emma….Emma wasn’t even looking him. She was staring at her hands which she had folded in her lap and that simply wouldn’t do at all. He needed her to see him, really see him, so he could jog her memory. He had to get her attention, had to get her to look at him, so he shouted the first thing that came to mind at her.

“You look beautiful today, Swan!”

_“Oh, well done, Killian, that didn’t make you sound like an idiot at all.”_ He sighed to himself. He was right, though. She did look lovely dressed as she was in a white gown with purple swirls embroidered around the hem. Her hair fell loosely today, her small tiara sitting atop it, gleaming in the sunlight. He suddenly decided that even if he didn’t get out of this at least the last thing he would get to see would be his stunning Swan.

He didn’t get much time to dwell on the thought, though, as footsteps sounded on the steps to the platform and the noise of the crowd took a sudden up turn. A stately looking gentleman wearing a uniform bearing Snow’s seal stepped to the front of platform and unrolled a long piece of parchment. Killian dared another look at Emma and saw that his impromptu compliment had at least gotten her attention; she was looking him, albeit rather blankly. Now he just needed her to remember before -

“Killian “Hook” Jones!” the voice rang out across the courtyard from the man with the parchment and a hush fell over the crowd, “For having been found guilty of crimes committed against the crown, be they innumerable and varied, including acts of piracy and treason for which the punishment is death, you have been sentenced to be hanged by the neck until dead with the punishment to be carried out on this morning.”

The man stepped back, placed the noose around his neck, and nodded to the executioner who took hold of the lever and began to pull it back. Time slowed to a crawl and Killian’s eyes were glued to Emma, the creaking sound of the wood beneath him signaling that she didn’t remember, she wasn’t going to stop it, and he had maybe ten seconds to figure a way out on his own before he was hanging. He started twisting his hand, trying to free it, felt the wood begin to give way and he was out of time, had waited too long, placed too much faith in the idea that she would easily remember but she didn’t and now he was –

_**“STOP!”** _

Emma’s voice rang out clearly across the courtyard as she stood. The executioner swiveled his head towards her, took one look at the determination on her face, and released the lever and stepped back, returning the trap door to its place. The crowd turned as one to stare at her, mouths agape, and her parents were both turned in their seats to give her equally incredulous looks.

She ignored them all, her eyes focused on Captain Hook as she spoke again, her voice cutting like crystal through the air, shocking everyone for the second time.

“I, Emma, crown princess of the Enchanted Forest, am taking responsibility of this prisoner and granting him a stay of execution. Return him to the dungeons immediately.”

No one moved, still staring at their princess as though she had suddenly grown two extra heads.

“NOW!”

The moment ended as guards hurried forward to follow her orders and the crowd, realizing there would be no execution and highly disappointed that their enjoyment had been cut short, began to disperse as Emma sat back down, suddenly weary. She watched as Hook was removed from the court yard and directed back to the dungeons, eyes glued to him until he disappeared into the castle.

“Emma?” her mother’s voice sounded a little frightened and she reached out to grab Emma’s hand, “What’s going on?”

Emma shook her head, unable to answer; she couldn’t explain it if she wanted to. All she knew was that she hadn’t wanted to be here at all, hadn’t wanted to watch this, and when Hook had shouted at her and she finally looked at him she had been overcome with a feeling of immense sorrow. He had looked miserable, still wearing the clothes he had on the day before only now they were filthy and stiff looking; his skin wasn’t faring much better, covered as it was in dirt, and his hair already looked in need of a wash.  
She felt guilty enough as was just seeing him like that, but when they had placed the noose around his neck she had felt a sharp pain behind her eyes and -

_She ran into the cavern, desperate to save Killian, racing to the thin strip of rock that lead to him. He was hanging over a grate, a pool of sickly teal water beneath him, tied up with chains around his arms and middle and her heart broke at the sight. She went as quickly as she could across the beam while maintaining her balance while Killian was slowly being lowered towards the water until finally she reached him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him to safety. He looked up at her with hope_ –

and disbelief shinning in his eyes and she’d known she had to save him, whatever the cost. Something was happening to her, something involving him, and she wanted to find out what it was.

“I’m sorry, mother.” was all she said as she jumped up and nearly fled back to her rooms, leaving her parents to their worry.


	3. Escape

Emma spent the next four days holed up in her rooms trying to find all the information she could on magic and visions, ignoring the incessant pull around her middle that was trying to tug her back to the dungeon and the infernal man it held. He was becoming an itch she couldn’t scratch, a buzzing in the back of her mind that refused leave her be, a tingle in her fingers that she could barely ignore. It was incredibly distracting and only made trying to study the already nearly intelligible languages more difficult. His face kept swimming in her mind’s eye, his blue eyes piercing hers, reaching into her soul, making her forget what she was doing. Subsequently, all she had managed to learn from the dusty tomes sitting around her was diddly with a side of squat.

The fourth night once again found her sitting on a couch in her receiving room before the fire place, a stack of read books to her left on the table in front of her, a stack of unread books to her right, and pile of scrolls and books from the previous days and nights haphazardly tossed on the couch opposite her. A single open book sat before her, the latest one she was working on deciphering, but the harder she tried to focus the more the words blended together, the tiny writing becoming nothing but a black blob on the page. She could feel a headache coming on and brought her hands to her temples in an attempt to stave it off, closing her eyes and huffing out an annoyed breath.

She was becoming so frustrated with this apparently futile effort that she was contemplating chucking the current book out the window just to relieve some tension when her mother knocked on her door.

“Emma? It’s nearly time for supper. Please come and eat with us, we’re worried about you.”

She could hear it in her mother’s voice, knew she would have to talk to her parents about this eventually, but she wasn’t ready yet. She knew they would ask why she had saved the life of a nefarious pirate captain but she didn’t yet have an explanation that made sense to herself, let alone one that would make sense to them. So instead of facing her parents and their worried looks and questions she gave the same response she’d given the last three nights.

“I’m not hungry right now.”

She heard her mother take a deep steadying breath before speaking again, her voice low with concern.

“You know you can talk to us about anything, Emma. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, your father and I can help.”

Emma said nothing, not trusting her voice. She hated hurting her parents, but she felt like this was something she needed to figure out on her own, something her parents couldn’t help with.

She knew her mother had conceded when she whispered through the door, “We love you, Emma, no matter what. I’ll have some food sent up. Please eat.”

Her footsteps echoed as she walked away and Emma went back to the book before her, trying to understand therein the squiggles that passed as words.

\-------------------------------------------

Four days. Three nights.

Four days he had spent staring blankly at the ceiling, the walls, the floor, and waiting. Waiting for her to come see him, to come ask him questions, to free him. Three nights he spent tossing around on his bed of straw, trying to get comfortable, and when sleep proved elusive wondering where she was, what she was doing, why she hadn’t come to him yet.

Four days and three nights she had left him to rot in the bloody brig with nothing to occupy his mind beyond the idle chatter of the guards as they changed and his own dark thoughts. By the fourth night he had given up hope that she would be coming to see him again any time soon. His brain was starting to feel like a dried sponge, his limbs were growing heavy with disuse, and the fire that had burned so bright with purpose for the last month had dwindled to a low flicker. After all, they were in no immediate danger and he was at least near to her now. What would be the point in burning himself out?

 _“No, point at all, m’boy,”_ was his only thought in his head while he lay staring once more at the ceiling, counting the number of stone bricks that had mold on them versus the number of bricks that didn’t (the bricks with mold were winning). Truly, his mind had gone so numb that he couldn’t even begin to formulate a new plan to get them out of this (the last one had failed rather spectacularly, which he wasn’t really surprised by considering that it had been half baked and mostly fueled by his desire to see her; he owed Smee an apology if he ever got out of here).

The sound of footsteps coming closer vaguely registered in his brain and he shifted his eyes enough to see a guard entering, holding a tray with a single plate and a cup of water.

_“Supper already. What’ll be tonight I wonder: grey slop or brown slop? I hope it’s brown.”_

He went back to counting the bricks as the guards talked briefly about what he figured was uninteresting gossip and rumor.

At least, until the words finally reached his wrung-out brain and he realized what they were talking about.

“Have you heard?!” A rough voice, belonging to the guard carrying the tray, the one who liked to taunt him. Killian had taken to calling him Ser Ugly.

“Heard wot?” This voice was softer, from the older guard who looked too grey to be here and spent his time playing cards, dubbed Ser Too Old For This.

“According to the commander we’ve just received word that the Evil Queen has been spotted! Along the Northern border, not a week’s ride from here!”

The guards, to their lasting detriment, had grown complacent around Killian. They’d quickly become accustomed to him doing nothing but laying passively on his straw and therefore failed to notice when he eyes started shining a little brighter and his head tilted slightly towards them, ears pricked to catch every word.

“Evil Queen? Can’ be. She were banished more’n two decades ago.” Ser Too Old For This stayed calm, as older solders who’d been there and seen that often did, and it was not the response Ser Ugly had wanted from him.

“Gods man, just retire. It’s impossible to get you excited about anything anymore!”

Anger beginning to brew in him Ser Too Old For This stood, his chair scraping loudly, gathered his cards, and walked up to Ser Ugly, stopping about an inch from his face.

“You lis’en to me, boy. If’n tha’ Queen really is back it ain’t nothin’ to be excited about. You weren’t more’n a twinkle in yer daddy’s eye the las’ time we fought ‘er and ya haven’ a clue wot it were like, so don’ go talkin’ about things ya don’ know shite about! If yer lucky you’ll ne’er have to learn wot it’s like to go up against a purely evil woman who ‘as no qualms about rippin’ yer heart out and crushin’ it to dust in front of ya!”

He turned and stalked off, footsteps pounding away, and Ser Ugly stared after him, incredulous, whispering to himself, “Barmy old man’s lost it. Can’t be that scary if she was banished before.”

Killian worked to keep his face neutral as he glanced up. His emotions had awoken with a roar of annoyance at Ser Ugly and a shot of fear at hearing that the Evil Queen could be back. Not only did he rather like the other guard, who treated him…well, at least not cruelly, he also vehemently agreed that this boy hadn’t the foggiest of ideas what he was talking about. The Evil Queen was to be feared and if she really was back then he had no more time to waste being pitiful. He needed to get Emma away from here, quickly, somewhere she would be safe, somewhere he could take the time to work out how to get her memories back. He needed a plan and as he looked Ser Ugly over he noticed the man had a key attached to his belt. A key to Killian’s cell. And suddenly, he had the perfect plan for getting himself and Emma out of this castle and away from the Queen: escape the cell, find Emma, get her aboard the Jolly Roger.

He stood as the man came over with his tray, making a show of stretching and popping his bones as he leaned against the bars. Ser Ugly failed to notice the conspicuous way that Killian had placed himself directly where he would have to stop to put the tray down.

“Looks like the dog’s eager for dinner tonight!” He laughed to himself as he bent down and placed the tray on the ground, pushing it through the small gap between the floor and the bars. When he straightened up, Killian smiled at him.

“Aye. I am eager tonight, but not for this mess you call food.”

Faster than a whip Killian’s hand shot out between the bars and grabbed hold of Ser Ugly’s collar. Shocked registered on his face as Killian’s grip tightened but before he could open his mouth to call for help Killian had yanked his hand back, bringing Ser Ugly’s head with it. The sickening crunch of bone cracking filled the air, along with the vibration of the bars, as the guard’s head connected with the door; a small trickle of blood ran from his hairline and his eyes rolled back into his head as he went limp. Killian released him, letting him fall into a heap on the ground, and felt no shame as he crouched down to retrieve the keys. He hadn’t killed the guard, after all, just given him a nice sized bump and a bigger blow to his ego, plus what would likely be a magnificent and well deserved punishment for letting a prisoner escape. All in all, Killian was quite proud of himself.

He hummed lightly as he unlocked the cell door and opened it, pushing Ser Ugly’s body along as he did, and gathered his affects from the pegs on the wall. He strapped on his baldric and pistols, donned his coat, and smiled as he clicked his hook into place, though it was short lived. It faded quickly as he snuck to the doorway to look out into the hall and the full weight of what he had to do properly hit him.

_“Now for the hard part.”_

It had been easy enough to escape his cell, but now he had to find Emma’s rooms, get to them without being seen, convince her to go with him, and then get back out and to the Jolly Roger without anyone being the wiser (at least until the morning, by which time they’d be long gone).

Three minutes passed without a sound so Killian cautiously made his way down the corridor towards the kitchens. The pavement sloped upwards until he was above ground again and he had to stop to let his eyes adjust to the evening light before he could continue on. He finally hit the doorway to the kitchen and stopped, flattening himself against the wall and looking around, ears on high alert. Another corridor stretched out to his left while the kitchen sat to his right. Two options. He peaked around the corner into the kitchen and when he saw no one he turned more fully to get a good look. A door stood across from him, closed, the only other door in the room, leading to where he didn’t know. It could lead outside, which would make finding Emma’s rooms marginally easier or it could lead him straight into the guard’s or servant’s quarters; better to take the hallway and slowly make his way up, devising a path back out as he did. Mind made up he turned around, preparing to head down the corridor, and came face to stomach with a small boy of about ten, his mouth wide and his eyes big as saucers.

Killian cursed to himself silently and quickly moved his hook behind his back. The child watched his movement, but did nothing else except continue to stare. For a full minute they stood like that until the child finally broke the silence with a whisper, his voice small and scared.

“Are…are you…Cap’n Hook?”

“Aye.”

“Are…” the child swallowed loudly, “Are you gon ta kill me?”

Killian felt his own eyes widen. Kill him? Kill an innocent child? Is that what the stories were saying about him these days? Gods, no wonder everyone had been almost comically shocked when Emma had saved him, and no wonder she had looked so shaken herself. He shook his head and knelt down until he was face to face with the child, putting himself on his level.

“What’s your name, son?”

The boy hesitated and Killian gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It must have been because the boy finally answered, “Billy.”

Killian held out his right hand.

“Well, Billy, my name is Killian Jones. And I swear that I am not going to hurt you.”

Billy stared at Killian’s hand for a long moment before slowly reaching out his own. His grip was light and slick with sweat, but Killian shook it anyways, letting Billy decide when to stop. Some of the fear finally left his eyes and Killian let his hand drop back down, trying to be as non-threatening as he possibly could. It seemed to be working as Billy asked another question, his voice a little bolder this time.

“What’re ye doin’ here?”

Killian stared at him. How in the realms was he supposed to answer that? He was fairly certain that saying “I’m here to find the princess, take her away from the Evil Queen, and figure out how to get her memories back so we can get back to a land you’ve never heard of” wouldn’t go over too well.

He took a deep breath and decided that part of the truth would work.

“I’m here to keep the princess safe.”

At the mention of Emma, Billy’s eyes lit up and his mouth split into a wide grin.

“Ye know the princess? She’s won’erful isn’ she? Real kind, ‘specially to me, and ne’er gets angry when I take a while ta do me chores.

Killian groaned internally, the realization that this child worked in the castle washing over him along with an idea and a healthy dose of guilt which he kicked back, reasoning that when Emma got her memories back and they got back to Storybrooke none of this would matter anyways.

“Aye, lad, she is wonderful and I’m trying to find her to help her. But I’ve run into a bit of a problem. See I haven’t been in the castle that much and I can’t remember where her rooms are. Do you think you could tell me? I’ll even throw in a bit of coin for you.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver coin. Billy’s eyes widened and he looked from the coin to Killian and back to the coin before asking, “Ye are here to protect her, righ’? Yer no’ gonna hurt her?”

Killian reached out and took Billy’s hand, placing the coin in it and curling his small fingers around it before placing his own hand over his heart.

“I swear on my ship, the Jolly Roger, that I will never let any harm befall Princess Emma, either by my own hand or anyone else’s.”

Billy stared at him for another full minute before finally deciding that Killian wasn’t lying. He put the coin in his pocket, reached out his hand for Killian to take, and started directing them down the hall.

“This way. I know all the shor’cuts in tha cassle.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------

The trip to Emma’s rooms took much less time with Billy leading him than it would have had Killian tried to find them on his own; within five minutes they were walking down the corridor towards her door. Before they had reached it, however, Killian put a hand on Billy’s shoulder to stop him, kneeling down once more to be on his level.

“I need to talk to the princess on my own, Billy. I thank you for helping me find my way; I promise Princess Emma will know you helped me find her.”

Billy looked at him for a second, a million questions in his eyes, nodded once, and hurried back the way they had come.

In truth, Killian would not be telling Emma that anyone had helped him, at least not until she had her memories back. But he could worry about that later, after she was safely aboard the Jolly. Steeling his nerves, every part of him saying this was probably about go poorly, he stood and walked up to her door. He took a deep breath and before he could think twice about how this was a _very bad plan_ he knocked.

The sound of shuffling feet was followed closely by the turn of the door knob and there she was, looking adorable in a white nightgown with a blue dressing gown over it, hair pulled back in a knot, a few loose strands hanging about her face.

“I already told mother I’m not –“ She broke off when she fully registered who she was talking to, her widening as she backed away into what must have been her receiving room, Killian following before she could shut the door in his face. “You! How?!”

He raised his brows and looked her in the eyes as he answered, “Pirate.”

Her eyes began darting around the room, searching for her sword ( _“Bad form, Swan. Always keep your blade on you, you know that.”_ ), and if he was going to do this had to do it _now_.

He stopped thinking then and let himself run on instinct. He lunged towards her as she leapt to her right where her blade sat on a table but he managed to be half a second faster and grabbed her left arm, pulling her back to his front and locking his arm around her like a steel band. She struggled in his grasp, kicking her feet and feeling one connect solidly with his shin, enjoying the cry of pain he gave and feeling his grip loosen slightly. She was trying to push her hands between herself and his arm when she felt him straighten to his full height behind her and saw his hook flash in front of her eyes. His left arm joined his right and he locked both around her until she was (mostly) immobile, although she continued squirming every few minutes, trying to find a weak spot.

“Emma, stop! I’m not here to hurt you!” His voice was low, breath coming a little faster because of the exertion he had to expend trying to keep her still.

She laughed then and her voice was full of contempt when she replied, “Really? Then let me go.”  
Her left arm slowly moving up as she spoke did not go unnoticed by Killian and he circled his arms tighter, removing the last half inch of space left between them, fully pressing her against him. Her hair ended up in his face and he was forced to lean his head to left, settling it on her shoulder.

His breath brushed against her ear and his stubble tickled her neck as he responded on a sigh, “I may be a simple pirate, but I’m not a complete fool. The moment I let you go you’re going to reach for your sword and then I’ll have to really fight you, which will take far too much time, precious time that we don’t have to waste. I overheard the guards saying that the Evil Queen has been spotted a week’s ride from here. We have to get you safe.”

She stopped squirming and scoffed, her whole body moving as she did, sending jolts through him everywhere they touched, nearly breaking his concentration. He was on thin ice already, melting at the feeling of finally having her back in his arms, the floral smell of her lingering body wash, and the brush of her skin every time she moved. Really, if he was being honest with himself, he was almost ready to just let go and beg her to let him drown in her, consequences and pride be damned. He was genuinely considering whether it would really be all that bad if he followed through with that idea when she interrupted his thoughts.

“Why would _you_ care about my safety? You’re Captain Hook, notorious blood thirsty pirate. I’ve heard the stories; you don’t care about anyone but yourself and your revenge. You should be glad Regina’s been seen.”

Anger and hurt swelled in chest, hot and thick, over powering his more pleasant thoughts, threatening his already precarious control over the situation. He growled deep in his throat, sounding more animal than man, and spun her around so she could see the pain he knew was flashing through his eyes.

He didn’t bother keeping that pain out of his voice when he responded, making it come out rough and gravelly and full of emotion.

“I don’t have time to explain why but trust me when I say that I will always care about your well-being, Emma. I don’t care what you’ve heard, your safety is my number one priority,” her eyes widened as he spoke and he knew she could sense the truth in his words. He continued, needing her to understand, to come with him of her own volition. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I promise, if you come with me, I shall explain everything to you. We don’t have much time left before the guards discover I’m gone –“

Alarm bells rang out, interrupting him and making them both whip their heads towards the door, waiting to hear footsteps running towards it. Killian turned back towards Emma; they were out of time and he still needed her to agree and he decided then that he was not above begging.

He released his hold on her and dropped to his knees, praying she would read the sincerity in his voice. “Emma, please! You must come with me, I can keep you safe!”

Footsteps sounded at the end of the hall as Emma shifted her weight from foot to foot, eyes glancing between the door and Killian, worrying her lip as she tried to make up her mind. They only came closer as she hesitated, a few feet away at most when she yanked Killian up by his collar, her voice a whisper.

“I’ll come with you, but you must promise to take me to see the Dark One.”

Killian froze, all of his focus solely on Emma.

“What?”

“Promise or I will scream for the guards! And this time you will hang!”

He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t stomach the idea of taking Emma anywhere near that monstrosity, not in this realm, but he was out of time and bargaining chips and the guards were banging on the door and she was opening her mouth as she’d said she would –

“Fine, I promise!”

She smiled, looking very much the cat that ate the canary.

“Good,” she glanced at the door; the guards were now trying to break it down, “They’ll arrest you the moment I open the door.…can you get us out of here?”

“Aye. But you probably won’t like how.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, not seeing his hook come up behind her.

“Forgive me, Swan,” was the last thing she heard before he brought his hook down, just hard enough to knock her out, “It’ll be easier on them if they believe I kidnapped you.”

He was gathering her into his arms as the door gave way, the frame splintering with the force. Fifteen guards entered, the first one through pointing a sword at him.

“He’s got the princess! Take him, men, carefully!” 

_“Bloody hell…can’t fight my way out of this one. Time for an exit strategy…”_ He shifted his eyes around until he spotted a window near a door that must lead to her bedroom. It was the farthest from him and would work the best for his haphazard plan so he took off at a run towards it, making the guards chase him farther into the room, getting them as close to himself as possible before spinning around, coat flaring out, and kicking out his leg, tripping the nearest one. The man fell with a crash directly in the path of the other guards, who couldn’t slow down, their speed and desire to catch Killian working against them. He didn’t stop to gloat, merely ran around them to the left, devoting all his energy to sprinting out of Emma’s rooms and down the corridor to the servant’s stairway. He continued running down the stairwell, kicked a door open at random on what he thought was the ground floor and _thank the gods_ it led to the formal dining hall. He didn’t slow down to admire the beauty of the décor, only clutched Emma tighter to himself as he ran towards the double doors that lead outside to a patio. He turned around as he hit the doors, taking the brunt of the damage when the glass shattered with the force, slicing through his coat and sticking in his arms. He didn’t register the pain, his was adrenaline pumping too fast, just pushed himself harder now that he was outside. Across the stone patio, boots thumping loudly in time with his heart, down the short steps to the grounds, around to the left where, after squinting in the darkness, he could see the side of the castle, slowing to a jog only when he didn’t hear footsteps in front of or behind him. His breath was coming in heavy pants, his arms were shaking with the effort of carrying dead weight, and a stitch was forming in his side, but still he refused to stop, not until he was on the docks.

Finally, he reached the front of the castle and sighed with relief at the sight of the woods surrounding the castle drive. He picked up speed again until he hit the cover of the forest then finally let himself slow to a walk. The stitch in his side was now a full cramp, spasming with pain with every inhale, his heart beat was pounding, and his muscles were burning, but he refused to allow himself to focus on any of it, instead putting his energy into holding Emma and putting one foot in front of the other. The sound of alarms and shouting hunting parties rang in his ears, fading the further away he got. He knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet (literally or figuratively) but he couldn’t properly sprint among roots and trees and darkness, having to instead step cautiously lest he trip and hurt Emma.

Sweat gathered on him as he went, soaking through his shirt, stinging his arms where the glass had cut him, falling into his eyes and blurring his vision. His muscles were protesting loudly at his abuse of them, aching and burning, and maybe he had severely underestimated the difficulty of carrying one hundred and fifteen pounds of dead weight through five miles of woods, but it didn’t matter. The fire that he thought he had left in the bring was burning brightly again, pushing him towards the sounds of the ocean, towards safety, until at last he broke out of the trees. A warm breeze blew across his sweat soaked body, cooling what skin it could reach, and the stars twinkled down at him, bringing a smile to his face. He looked down at Emma, her hair blowing softly in the wind, kissed her forehead lightly, and forced himself into another sprint, all the way to the dock where Smee was waiting on the Jolly.

He was panting with effort by the time he clattered onto the deck of his home, nearly falling when his muscles decided they’d had quite enough. The only things that kept him upright were his need to get Emma onto his bed so she could rest, along with the thought of collapsing in the crew’s quarters himself.

“Smee!” His voice was hoarse and much quieter than he had intended it to be, but Smee was there anyways, drawn by the racket Killian was making just trying to walk. He rushed to his captain’s side, reaching out to take Emma, stopping when he received a glare in response.

“We…weigh anchor…hoi..st…the….” Killian stopped and growled in frustration, trying to catch his breath, “Gods….just get us…out of here!”

“Aye, Cap’n!” Smee scuttled off to prepare them to make way as Killian laid Emma on the deck long enough to open the hatch to his cabin. Once open, he gathered her back in his arms and, in a decidedly un-piratey move, scooted his arse down the blessedly angled ladder, keeping his promise to Billy that no harm would befall her.

He had just laid her gently in his bed and finagled the covers out from under her and then over her when his legs gave way and he sat bodily on the floor. He leaned against his bed and took a moment to just breathe, waiting until he felt the Jolly begin to move before he stood again and trudged his way to the crew’s quarters where finally, without removing his coat or his sword or his pistols, he collapsed onto a bed and passed out, entrusting Smee to get them to open water.


	4. Sailing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long! There were a lot of things I wanted to happen, but I ended up spliting the latter half into chapter five, which will come much sooner! For those interested, the shanty Killian is singing is Leave Her, Johnny, specifically the Assassin's Creed: Black Flag version.

She woke to the peaceful rocking of waves beneath her, the gentle creaking of wood in water, and the sound of a soft, rich, baritone voice floating through the air, singing a beautiful and sad sea shanty. It struck her as odd that she could hear her father singing so loudly all the way up in her rooms, but she ignored it, merely humming a sigh and rolling to her other side, pulling up the quilt she must have kicked off in the night.

_“…….quilt?”_

Her hand shot out from under the covers to feel for the softness of her goose down bed cover, but what it encountered was the slightly rough thin material of an old quilt. Emma popped her eyes open then, squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows and illuminating dust motes in the air, praying that she would see the wardrobe Gipetto had made her sitting across from her bed where it belonged. What she saw instead was a roughly hewn wooden table surrounded by four equally rough wooden chairs, covered in various maps and charts and navigational tools. She blinked and sat up, placing a hand to her pounding head, feeling like she’d been trampled by a carriage. A quick look around further confirmed her fear that she was not, in fact, in her bedroom. But then…where was she?

Her eyes roved over a long, heavy, black leather coat draped with care over one of the chairs and her memories clicked into place with a jolt, making her groan loudly and bury her head further in her hands: Hook – another short vision – a quick struggle – Hook begging and looking strangely sincere – the decision to trust him – asking him to take her to the Dark One – a dull painful thud on her head and then darkness.

Suddenly her surroundings made much more sense. She was aboard the Jolly Roger, hearing the normal sounds of a ship slicing through water and of a captain singing away the time. She paused her thoughts then to listen to him, his voice rich and flowing through her like hot chocolate in the winter. She couldn’t make out the words, but the rise and fall of his voice as he sang was beautiful and hypnotizing and, somehow, incredibly sad. It must have been a song about lost love, something he had personal experience in, if the pain coming through in his voice was anything to go by. Shivers trickled down her spine and her chest grew tighter the longer she listened until she finally felt tears prick her eyes.

_“This is ridiculous,” she admonished herself, “He’s a pirate! A pretty voice and a promise to take me to the Dark One don’t change that!”_

She dashed angrily at the tears that had yet to fall. She didn’t want to analyze why she felt bad for some scoundrel who had maybe lost a love once upon a time, choosing instead to focus upon her annoyance with being clocked over the head and tossed onto a ship.

She yanked the old quilt and a cotton sheet off, intending to go up on deck and give him his own sore spot on his head, when she realized that she was still wearing her nightgown with her dressing gown over it. It hit her then exactly how poorly she had thought this through; she was on a pirate ship, heading towards the Dark One, with no clothes, no shoes, no weapons, and no real plan.

She closed her eyes, hands clenching, and took a deep breath while she counted to ten. She opened her eyes as she let the breath out, forcing calm through her system, and they alighted on a small wardrobe in the corner. Clothes! Of course Hook had other clothes; he couldn’t wear the same shirt and pants day in and day out. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind if she borrowed a set, but if he did she would just have to remind him that it was his fault she was on his ship with no other clothes in the first place. She crossed the room in two strides and pulled open the doors of the wardrobe. It was full of drawers and she started yanking them open at random, searching for a shirt and pants, or anything, really, as long as it would vaguely fit her. There were a couple of drawers with socks, which she grabbed in case she found some shoes, and there, the third one down held a pile of shirts, all black (“Does the man wear any other color?”), and beneath that was drawer of…leather…pants.

She groaned and thunked her head against the drawers. There wasn’t much of another option, she knew; it would either be leather pants or no pants. But, she figured, if they were skin tight on Hook then they were likely to be loose on her. She shucked her nightgown and dressing gown over her head and picked an empty drawer to place them in, designating it for herself. Pulling up the pants she realized, to her relief, that they weren’t terribly uncomfortable. The leather was soft, well-worn and malleable, loose enough to be comfortable but tight enough to not hinder her. The shirt, however, though it was a nice breathable cotton, was too baggy, requiring her to tie a knot in it at her side to make it fit. She closed the wardrobe once she was dressed and turned her focus to finding boots. He had to have more than one pair, right?

She rummaged through the various shelves on the walls, finding nothing more than sailing tools and, she presumed, souvenirs from various ships he’d taken down, until she hit the large chest at the end of his bed. It was locked, of course it was locked, and surely only Hook had the key, but her curiosity was peaked; she stored away the idea of asking him about it for a later date and continued looking for just one pair of twice cursed…ah ha! She found a slightly ratty small pair of boots tucked under his bed, seemingly placed there long ago and forgotten. They were dusty and covered in cobwebs, but a few swipes with the sheet had them clean again in minutes. She slipped them on, finding them a little loose but fitting well enough to be useful. Unfortunately, she hadn’t found a weapon during her search of the captain’s cabin, but, she figured as she tied her hair into a messy braid, there had to be at least one extra sword on a pirate’s ship that she could use; she could ask Hook about obtaining one when she talked to him about his plan to get her to the Dark One.

Making her way towards the hatch above her, she realized that Hook had finished singing and, strangely, she rather missed the sound (though she would never admit it if asked). The sunlight nearly blinded her when she opened the hatch and made her way up on deck, the rocking of the ship only serving to put her more off balance. She heard a small chuckle behind her when she stumbled slightly and she turned around, glaring in the general direction of his voice.

“Trouble with your sea legs, Swan? Don’t worry, you’ll get them under you in a day or so.”

His shape coalesced on the deck above her as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of sunlight reflected on water; he stood at the helm, blue eyes bright and excited, matching the shade of the sea surrounding them, freshly washed hair blowing in the wind, a smile spread over his lips as he looked out over the bow. He looked at home; happy….excited, even, like an absolute madman, and if she had thought him beautiful when he was laying on a straw bed in a cell, well then now...now she didn’t have words to describe him. She had more than a few questions, though. Who exactly was this Captain Hook? This enigmatic man who begged for her to trust him one minute, then hit her with his hook the next? Why was he so invested in her and her well-being when, by all rights, he should want to ransom her to the highest bidder? And gods, why did she want to just be around him so badly? She sighed to herself. Too many questions, not nearly enough answers.

As her thoughts swirled, he finally deigned to look down over the wheel and his eyes met hers, sparkling with enthusiasm and the sheer unadulterated joy of sailing on the open ocean, and her breath caught in her throat.

_“Beautiful. He’s absolutely beautiful. And I am in so much trouble.”_  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was wearing his clothes. He really shouldn’t have been surprised, after all he had brought her aboard in naught but her nightgown, but seeing her standing on the deck of the Jolly Roger in his too big shirt and pants, hair pulled back, arms crossed as she glared at him, made his heart thump painfully against his ribcage. She looked every inch a pirate, beautiful and striking, making his insides flip over themselves, and if he didn’t redirect his thoughts now he was liable to do something very stupid.

“Did you sleep well?” He prayed that she missed how his voice sounded a little tighter than usual.

“Well as can be expected after being _hit over the head._ ” Her glare refused to let up and he supposed he should have anticipated her annoyance, but he merely returned her stare and arched his brow.

“Ah, yes, my apologies. However….would your parents have been more likely to believe that you had left of your own volition with a pirate or that you had been kidnapped?”

She opened her mouth to retort but stopped, thought for a moment, and let out of a huff of irritation. He grinned and looked back out over the bow of his ship as she ascended the small staircase and came to stand beside him.

“No need to thank me, Swan. Are you hungry? We haven’t got much right now, but we’ve enough for a small breakfast if you’d like.” Emma continued glaring at him, which he was beginning to find a bit odd; though now that she was standing closer, he could see her eyes properly and it suddenly dawned on him that she was squinting from the sunlight, not glaring, and _“really, Jones, how thick are you?”_ He didn’t wait for a response from her about breakfast, simply reached out and took her hand, calling for Smee to take the wheel while he lead her back down the steps and into his quarter’s, much to her chagrin.

She yanked her hand away as soon the hatch above them closed, practically spitting, “What do you think you’re doing!”

He eyed her sideways as he crossed to the wardrobe. “Helping you, darling.”

He turned his back on her fully to rummage through the drawers, searching for his kohl, pausing when he pulled one open and was greeted with the sight of her neatly folded nightclothes. The sight made his chest tighten as memories of sharing other drawers with her washed over him.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” He spoke to the wardrobe, hoping she missed when he cleared his throat lightly, not trusting himself to look at her without doing something foolish, like spill out his love. That would serve no purpose at the moment; their love may be true, but, as Dave had once mentioned when Killian had confessed how true love’s kiss hadn’t woken her New York, how could she remember him if she didn’t even remember herself? The urge to bang his head against the wardrobe until he woke from this nightmare nearly overtook him then and it was only Emma speaking that brought him back from the edge, though she was oblivious to his plight.

“Well, I wasn’t going to leave them in a heap on the floor. What are we doing here, Hook?”

He finally found the kohl buried amongst his shirts and he whirled around to face her, smile back in place, eyes glimmering lasciviously.

“Call me Killian, love, and what we’re doing is getting you some help against the sun. This,” he wiggled the kohl at her for effect, “will help keep the glare down. Now close your eyes and hold still so I can apply it.”

She looked supremely disconcerted as he came towards her, kohl in hand, but managed to stay still long enough for him to line her eyes. She opened them when he was finished and it struck him then exactly how close they were standing. Too close. So close that he could feel her breath on his cheek, see her pupils dilate as her eyelids lowered, the kohl turning the look in them into a smolder, and suddenly he was having difficulty breathing, the temperature in the room rising at least ten degrees, making him sweat, making his leather pants far too tight. She was so close, so very close…and it would be so easy, too easy, to just…reach out…and touch…to close the gap…

The Jolly shuddered sharply as a massive wave rocked against her side, knocking them both sideways and breaking whatever small spell he had accidentally cast.

_“Well that was a bloody mistake.”_

They stood there awkwardly, neither looking at the other, both finding the walls of the cabin more fascinating. Killian finally coughed, breaking the mounting tension, and gestured towards his cabin door.

“Uh….breakfast?”

A soft blush delicately painted Emma’s cheeks, making it harder for him to resist the urge to touch, to feel her soft skin again…

“Breakfast would be lovely, thank you.”

She walked away from him then and ripped open the door, marching into the hall. He leaned against the wall and crossed his legs, letting her go, and waited, pulling out a flask of rum and taking a long draw as he did. The burn as it slid down his throat to pool in his stomach brought him back to himself, scorching away the last vestiges of discontent, at least for the moment. Ten seconds later Emma walked back in, cheeks now more of a red than a pink, eyes blazing. He simply smiled, pushed off the wall, and sauntered past her.

“Hard to storm off when you don’t know where you’re going, isn’t it, _Highness_?”

A low growl of frustration was her only response as she trailed behind him.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Breakfast was a short, mostly quiet, affair. They sat in the galley at a the end of a long table, both actively avoiding the subject of the almost-whatever-it-was they had shared in his cabin, eating their dried fruit in silence; Killian had made certain to have it aboard just for her, ensuring that her favorites were included _and_ ensuring he owed Smee yet another thank you.

Emma had cleared the table, devouring the last bit of cantaloupe, before she decided to break the silence.

“So, Captain. Where are exactly are we? And how long have we been traveling?”

Killian pulled out his flask again and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the table, gazing sardonically at Emma as he did.

“You were only out for half a day, love, I didn’t hit you that hard,” the corner of his mouth twitched up, belying his amusement, “We’re on course towards Libertalia. And before you say it, yes, I remember my promise to you and against my better judgement I will be taking you to see….it.” His mouth turned down as his face pinched slightly, making him look for all the world like he’d just been forced to swallow the most sour lemon imaginable.

Emma narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well thank you for keeping our bargain, but what is Libertalia? And may I inquire as to why we’re not simply sailing straight to the Dark One?”  
Killian’s feet landed back on the floor with a soft thump as he leaned towards Emma, elbows braced on his knees. His eyes held a certain cold curiosity as they bore into hers, as though searching her soul for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

“Why are you so keen on getting to him?”

Ah, there was the question. Emma returned his stare, refusing to back down from this sudden game of chicken. His gaze was intense, as intense as it had been when he’d gotten on his knees to beg her to come with him, but she found the power of it endearing. And yet, while she felt the strangest urge to trust him implicitly, she found that she couldn’t, not yet. Not until she knew more about his own motivations.

She leaned forward and placed her own hand across his, stroking his index finger with a feather light touch, smiling when she heard his breath hitch.

“I have my reasons, Captain. I promise you’ll find out in due time.”

He pulled his hand out from under her grasp and slammed his hook into the table, making Emma jump in surprise and, perhaps, a little bit of fear. She could feel the irritation and frustration radiating off him in waves, but it didn’t seem to be entirely directed at her. He stared at the table, his brows drawn, his mouth pulled down in a tight frown, as he whispered, “Don’t play this game with me, Emma. We haven’t the time. It will take three days to sail to Libertalia, a pirate stronghold, where we’ll pick up a crew and obtain information on where the Dark One may be hiding. _Then_ we will make our way to him.”

He was tense, every line of his body pulled taught like a bowstring waiting to be released. But the question, then, was what would he be shooting at? He turned the full force of his gaze back on her and she had the answer to her question. The color in his eyes had turned crystalline, an icey fire directed entirely at her, promising dark nights in warm sheets and breathless whispered adorations. He kept her trapped in his eyes for a long moment before he abruptly pushed away from the table, leaving her shivering from the sudden loss of his intensity. She heard the door slam, jolting her as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Three days, he had said. Three days to sail to a pirate stronghold. She prayed she would be able to survive until then.


	5. Libertalia

The three days following the incident in the galley passed in a blur for Killian as he poured all of his energy into sailing the Jolly Roger safely to Libertalia. It wasn’t an easy task with only two sailors, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad for the distraction. It was getting increasingly difficult to be around Emma, to contain his desire to kiss her thoroughly; the need to lay claim to her, to run his fingers through her hair, slant his mouth over hers, and steal her breath away for himself was burning through his veins. But what kind of man would he be if he kissed her like that, knowing what he knew? If he did that to her, broke her trust that way, she’d be livid when she did get her memories back and he wouldn’t blame her.

He had nearly forgotten those reasons in that moment, very nearly said bugger it all and let his instincts run wild. Truthfully, it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed to walk away from her in the galley. The hold he had on his control was slipping and it was easier on both of them if he simply stayed away from her for a while, at least while they were sailing.

His focus paid off as evening fell on the third day and they made port without another incident. He found himself sitting on the mizzenmast after he finished tying up the sails, watching the lights spring to life throughout the village as darkness descended. A humid breeze blew towards him off the island, enveloping him in the scent of cheap perfume, booze, and rum. Music rang out from the taverns surrounding the dock, the sounds of violins and guitars mixed with shouting and laughter filling the air with the promise of drunken revelry. It was pirate territory, no mistake, and it wasn’t necessarily a place Killian wanted Emma to be, but it was the only place to get them a decent crew. Hopefully he would be able to convince her to stay on board while he went in search of one, though it was unlikely. At best he would simply have to hope that she didn’t run a sword through the first person who behaved inexcusably towards her. He sighed as a gunshot went off from one of the smaller taverns further inland. For all that Killian was a pirate, they weren’t always his favorite people to be around. They were loud, often smelly, generally rude, and loved fighting. But they would also be the easiest hands to purchase; for the right amount any pirate would a join a crew without asking too many questions, which was exactly what he needed.

He started making a plan on which taverns would be the best to visit (and which to avoid at all costs) as he made his way down from the mizzen mast. Assuming Emma denied his request that she stay on the Jolly, their choices would be more limited. They would have to stick to the places closer to the dock, as there wasn’t a chance in the Underworld that he would willingly take her into one of the businesses further inland. Those were reserved for men of a more insidious nature and he would not be subjecting Emma to that rowdy crowd. No, he’d have to get her a sword and ensure that they stayed close to the Jolly.

He was lost in thought, trying to think of how best to broach the subject of staying on board with Emma, when his feet hit the deck. He had taken exactly one step towards his cabin, where she had been staying, before he realized that he needn’t seek her out. She was already standing before him on the gangway, looking like a pirate queen once again in his clothes, with a minor addition to the outfit. This time she had been cunning enough to also “borrow” his baldric, sword and pistol included, subsequently making him the one in need of procuring a sword.

He couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled in his chest at the sight, making Emma narrow her eyes and cross her arms over her chest. As he beheld her, the laughter at the knowledge that she had seen fit to simply take his effects without bothering to ask him died as new emotions took over: pride, and no small amount of longing. She was an absolute vision: her feet were planted firmly apart, her arms were crossed, her hair whipped around her face as the wind blew, and her eyes were bright, lined with kohl again, shining with determination. His heart swelled with love for her in that moment; she was magnificent, there was no other word for it, and he wondered briefly if there would ever come a moment when she ceased to amaze him.

_“Not bloody likely, Jones.”_

He nodded to her hip where his blade sat. “I see you’ve found a sword.”

She scoffed. “You didn’t think I’d set foot on a pirate island without a means to protect myself, did you?”

Killian sighed and dropped his head, resigning himself to the fact that should would be accompanying him. If he had his way she wouldn’t be setting foot on the island at all, but he knew Emma and he knew that she would go with him come Hell or high water. He leaned back against the mast and crossed his own arms and legs, mimicking her defensive stance.

Looking up at her from beneath his lashes, hoping that maybe a good old fashioned puppy face would help sway her, he rather pointlessly inquired, “Would it make any difference at all if I request that you stay on board?”

“Absolutely not. I’m a part of this and I’m coming with you.”

And once again he watched as she marched off ahead him without a clue as to where she was going. He sighed deeply for his own sake and trudged after her, figuring he could quietly steal a new sword for himself from an unsuspecting drunk once they were in town.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was like no place Emma had ever seen before. Lanterns hung from every available surface, making her almost forget that the sun had fallen already. The sounds of fists slapping flesh drew attention to a bar fight happening in the first tavern just off the docks; the sounds of screams and moans coming from the second building made her blush and pick up her pace until they were past (she didn’t fail to notice the small snort of laughter from Killian when she did). Men and women alike, all in various states of dress and undress, milled about the streets as they walked further in, mugs of ale in the hands of some, flasks of rum in the hands of others, all of them laughing and singing and shouting. It was complete chaos and complete freedom and Emma was quickly realizing that she loved it. Despite the stench of unwashed bodies and urine mixed the strong odor of liquor, she couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her face as she watched the revelry going on around her. Every way she looked someone was engaged in some kind of debauchery and it was oddly...exciting, in that way that new experiences usually were.

They made their way through the crowds to a large two-story wooden building, Killian walking as close to her as physically possible (though whether to be close to her or be out of the way of drunk stumbling pirates she wasn’t sure). A sign out front proclaimed the building to be the Golden Gosling Tavern, the lights inside and sounds of laughter giving it a welcoming air. When they stepped inside they were greeted with a rush of noise and warmth; it was even busier and louder inside the tavern than it had been on the street. A person sat on almost every open stool, some crowding the bar, some gathered at the tables around the room. There was just enough space for them to slip through and take the last two open seats at a table right next to the bar.

Killian sat to Emma’s right and a burly man with biceps as large around as her head was seated to her left, giving her a curious glance, the type of look a large bulldog might give a dainty bird that landed on it’s leg. His eyes were kind, a soft green, crinkled around the corners from laughter and, despite his large presence, Emma felt strangely comfortable sitting next to him. A hefty moustache and beard covered most of his face, though though they didn’t hide his warm smile, while a bandana with some kind of fish insignia covered the top of his head. Really, other than being quite large, at least a head taller than even Killian, he was rather unassuming. The man seated across from Emma was slightly more interesting, albeit also more frightening; he had no beard, but his hair was long and unkempt, tied out of his face with a leather thong. A scar ran down his left cheek from his eye to his mouth, jagged and red, though obviously quite old; the rest of his face was a dark tan color, pockmarked and leathery from spending far too much time in the sun. His eyes, unlike those of the friendly fellow next to her, were cold and hard. They held some kind of warning, marking him as dangerous, and Emma found herself quickly looking away from him. She let her eyes wander around the bar instead, taking in the sights of men of all ages chatting about their latest conquests and women plying their trade (“Did he bring me to a brothel?!”) or pouring fresh ale for new customers. She was beginning to wonder how they were supposed to go about getting a crew out of this mess of people when Killian ordered a round of ale for the entire table from the nearest bar wench.

The kind man next to her turned to Killian and stuck out his hand, his voice strong and deep as he said “Thanks, mate! Name’s Jack. What’s the occasion?”

Killian took the man’s hand, shaking it as he introduced himself.

“Captain Killian Jones,” a small hush fell across their table, like water dousing a fire, branching out to the people who were close enough to overhear. Jack dropped his hand, a small frown appearing on his face as Killian continued, “And it so happens that I’m looking for a crew to join me and the lady on a small venture.”

He gestured to Emma as he spoke and the man across from them lit up, his eyes suddenly showing much more interest than they had before, roving over Emma as though she were prime cut of beef. He reached his own hand across the table to shake Killian’s and when he opened his mouth to speak a voice made of oil and venom slithered over Emma.

“Miles. How many men are you looking for?”

Killian didn’t miss the way he was looking at Emma; he narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly and slung his left arm around her, hook coming to land lightly on the table, marking her as off limits to anyone who could see. His own voice had lost its warmth, growing tight and cold when he replied, “At least ten, no more than fifteen.”

“You can count me in, Captain. I’d never leave a lady as beautiful as she without at least two good men aboard.” It was Jack who had spoken, his eyes also on Miles though he addressed Killian. Emma smiled warmly at him, welcoming him and his offer of protection, even though she knew she could look after herself.

“Me as well, Captain.” Miles’ mouth curled up in a mockery of a smile and Emma felt ice pool in her stomach, spreading through her veins like frost, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be out of this tavern and away from this man. She turned to Killian and whispered, “I need to go outside, get some fresh air.”

Concern painted his features as he looked down at her and a small amount of heat found its way back into her chest. Despite having every reason not to, and despite the fact that they had only known each other a short while, he obviously cared for her and it was...touching.

“I’ll come with you.” He made to stand, but Emma’s hand on his leg stopped him.

“No, I’ll be fine. You finish us getting a crew.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but something on her face must have told him it would be a poor idea. He glanced at the men around them before leaning in to whisper in her ear, his breath and scruff tickling the sensitive skin as he did.

“It’ll take a little while. We likely won’t have a full crew until morning. Meet me on the dock in one hour’s time.”

Emma nodded and left without a second glance, the need to be away from the tavern stronger than before thanks to Killian, and failed to see the way three pairs of eyes watched her go.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Killian kept his eyes on the man, Miles, for the next ten minutes. He had seen the hunger in his eyes, the lust for a fight (and more) written plain as day on his face. He was contemplating how best to tell Miles to piss off when five more men crowded the table, all angling for a chance to be on the crew, blocking Killian’s view for a minute. When they dispersed to go find others to join, Killian caught sight of Miles again, standing next to the door, looking around nonchalantly. Killian watched as he smiled satisfactorily, clearly confident no one would be following him. Killian gripped the handle of his mug, tightly, allowing Miles the false sense of security, waiting for the opportune moment. Three minutes after Miles walked out of the door, Killian turned to Jack, who he was considering for Quartermaster, and asked him to tell any new crew to stay in the tavern until his and Emma’s return the next morning.

He moved quickly outside, spotted Miles further up the road, and caught a glimpse of Emma’s blonde hair shining in the lantern light, drawing him and Miles in like moths to a flame, as she turned a corner next to a brothel. He rushed after as quickly as he could without alerting Miles, slipping unnoticed through the streets, swiping a sword off a man passed out in front of the brothel in a pile of filth he didn’t want to analyze.

He turned the corner in time to see Miles dragging Emma into an alley on the left. His blood boiled in his veins, sheer rage burning him from the inside out. He knew Emma could handle herself, knew she could certainly take care of this toss pot, but it didn’t stop him from being protective, from wanting to cut down anyone who lay a harmful finger on her. Only one thing was certain as Killian followed the sounds of a fight beginning and it sang through his blood like a promise: whether by Emma’s hand or his own, that man’s eyes would never see the light of day again.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had come up behind her and taken her by surprise, the bastard, but unfortunately for him, Emma had practiced a scenario eerily similar to this with Lancelot fifty times over.

“You never know when a man might do something incredibly stupid, like attack the crown princess,” was all he would say when she asked why they were practicing it again.

_“You were right, Lancelot.”_

She whispered her thanks to her mentor as her right hand inched towards her commandeered blade while her left came up gently to slip between her and her attacker. She waited until he had pulled her into the nearest ally before she jabbed her elbow back sharply, landing it against his ribs, exactly where she meant to. He released her with a muffled oath and she pulled her sword free as she turned around and came face to face with Miles. She shouldn’t have been surprised, not really, but shock still rang through her and Miles took advantage of that split second, pulling his own cutlass free, smiling sickly at her as he did.

“Looks like the captain’s lady has some fight in her, eh? Not surprising. I’ve heard Jones prefers ‘em with a bit of fire in their blood.”

Emma stomach rolled over and she saw red. This disgusting piece of refuse was about to learn exactly how much fight “the captain’s lady” had in her.

“You have no idea.” She growled at him and lunged but he was quick to block and the sound of steel clashing with steel rang out, vibrating through her ears. She didn’t pause, moving swiftly into her next attack, putting all her energy into pushing him backwards, away from her, as he continued to block. They danced around the alley, Emma having the advantage of being slightly smaller and quicker, Miles being marginally stronger. Neither one noticed Killian standing in mouth of the alley, watching, waiting for Emma to need help. He didn’t have to wait too long; one misstep over a rock she hadn’t seen sent her falling back to land on her ass, her teeth clacking together from the force, sword flying from her hand to land a foot away. She didn’t register the pain blossoming from her tailbone or the fact that she had bit through her bottom lip; she didn’t feel the blood slowly but steadily dripping down to her chin, didn’t taste the iron in her throat. No, the only thing her brain could register in that moment was MIles’ mouth curled over his teeth in a snarl, as his cutlass, gleaming red from the lantern light, swung towards her. Time slowed as she realized: this was it. This was how she was going to leave this world, in a dank alley on an island full of blasted pirates, without saying goodbye to her parents, without telling them once more that she loved them, or explaining why she had left. Without….without saying goodbye to Killian. WIthout finding out why he seemed to care so much for her.

She should have felt sadness, pain, tears spring to her eyes, but she didn’t. All she felt was anger and rage, with herself and with the man before her. She couldn’t go out like this, not without putting up more of a fight. She turned and reached for her sword, scrambling with more speed than she knew she had, but before she could stand and turn around to continue, a swift figure darted between her and Miles, his own sword singing through the air as it stopped the other.

_“Who in the world…?”_

A rough voice whispered, “Good form.”

His left foot slipped behind Miles’ right, kicked it up to be caught in… _in a hook_.

She couldn’t see his face but she could hear the fury in his voice.

“Not good enough.”

_He flipped her onto her back and she landed painfully in the sand. Something was digging into her back and she let Hook neatly trap her sword, moving her right hand under her as he leaned down, sliding his hook and sword towards her in an almost sexual way._

_“Normally, I prefer to do other more enjoyable activities with a woman on her back.” His eyebrows raised and lowered, adding unneeded emphasis to his badly flirtatious words. “But with my life on the line you’ve left me no choice. Bit of advice? When I jab you with my sword_

You’ll feel it!”

She came out of the vision in a rush, her head throbbing, to see Miles on his back, cowering under Killian’s blade. He didn’t look nearly so frightening now, not with Killian’s sword an inch from his heart, nor with his lips quivering and his eyes darting around looking for any escape. She stood and went to Killian, putting her hand on his arm.

“No.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her and she felt, rather than heard, him sigh.

“Emma, he was -”

“I know. But he didn’t and I’m fine. I’m granting leniency,” she stopped and turned her eyes to Miles, boring into him, “So long as he apologizes and leaves this country, never returning, upon pain of death.”

Killian growled and pushed the point of his sword against Miles’ skin, just enough to draw a small bead of blood, before flinging it to the side.

His voice was full of unsatisfied rage and worry as he snarled, “Consider yourself lucky, dog. Get up before she changes her mind.”

They stepped back, allowing Miles room to stand. Emma kept her sword at the ready, wanting to wait to sheathe it until she was sure he was gone. For a moment, she thought it was over, thought he was going to simply leave with his tail between his legs. But then she caught the glint of his blade as it twitched and her adrenaline kicked into full force. She felt herself detach from her body, suddenly seeing the events unfolding objectively, as though she were looking at a painting. She watched in slow motion as Miles’ blade came up, aiming at Killian; saw her own arm raise and pull back, her own feet rush forward as she jabbed. The sound of steel piercing flesh was distant, dull. The gurgle from Miles as she pulled her sword back out was barely audible as she flooded back into her body, blood rushing in her ears, heart pounding like a war drum. He fell with a thud, a hole ripped through his middle, his eyes blank and seeing nothing.

It was over before Emma even had time to blink. She froze, the realization of what she’d just done bowling her over like a runaway carriage. She couldn’t move, couldn’t form a proper thought, couldn’t seem to even breathe or speak. All she could do was stand stock still and watch as Killian walked around her, picked up the body and walked off with it. Distantly she heard him come back, felt him grab her hand and tug her towards him, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her as close as he could. She took the comfort he was offering, needing the closeness, needing to feel him warm and solid and real and alive, _thank the gods he’s alive_.

Her eyes betrayed her then, finally filling with a sheen of tears, and her voice felt paper thin and shaky but she had to say it, had to tell him why, even if she couldn’t look at him as she did. She kept her head buried in his chest, her words coming out muffled.

“I couldn’t let him -”

“Shhhhhh, love, it’s alright,” His hand came up from the small of her back to smooth over her hair, his lips finding her forehead, “I understand.”

He let his hand slide down her cheek to cup her chin, tilting her head up until she could see his eyes. She searched them, looking for some sign of disgust or anger or anything to say that what she did was wrong. But the only things she saw in his deep blue depths were thanks and concern, likely for her...and maybe a small amount of pride?

A sigh escaped her as she took him in. He was so close, so real, his essence invading her senses the longer she stood in his arms. He smelled like cloves and spice and the salt of the sea, felt like a warm fire on a frigid night and the headiness of a strong drink, looked like sin given form, and would taste...how? His lips were a hairsbreadth away, the spicey sweet smell of rum drifting off them, calling to her, promising he would be delicious. And gods she wanted to taste. She shouldn’t, every fiber of her being told her that she shouldn’t want any of this, but she could no longer deny the pull she felt towards him, the attraction that burned low in her stomach every time he so much as glanced her way.

_“I guess this is a night for firsts…”_

She brought her hands up to curl in the hair at the base of his neck and before she could stop herself, before she could remember why this was dangerous, she tugged him lightly downwards, arching up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway.

His lips were soft, the stubble around them scratching her face lightly in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, and _oh! I was right_. He tasted like the finest rum in the country, spicy and warm and intoxicating, and she drank him in greedily, letting the feel and taste of him burn down her throat to settle in her stomach, memorizing how it felt to be held against him.

She broke the kiss after only a moment and stepped back out of his grasp; it had been just long enough to satisfy her curiosity, her desire to know.

She looked up and saw that Killian looked as flushed as she felt, hand and hook half stretched towards her, his pupils blown wide, eyes sparkling with barely leashed desire and….love? It wasn’t a look she’d ever seen before, from anyone, and it was doing strange things to her insides, making her body flood with sensations she never expected to feel outside the privacy of her bedchamber. It was too much, that look in his eyes, and she didn’t want to think about it, any of it, just then. She was suddenly exhausted, her adrenaline wearing down, and all she wanted was to get back to the Jolly, away from Killian and his strange expressions, and go to sleep, so she grabbed his hand and pulled, ignoring the way her stomach tightened and her face flushed with heat.

They walked together down the street, neither saying a word. Until they reached the Jolly, the only sounds made came from their boots on the ground and the people around them still enjoying the night. They remained silent even as they boarded, the ocean providing a new song as it rocked it’s waves against the shore. Emma glanced at Killian once they were on deck, squeezing his hand as she did.

“Good night, Killian.”

She smiled warmly and arched up to place a light kiss on his cheek before she released his hand and made her way to his cabin, leaving him standing shell-shocked on the deck of his ship.


	6. Storm

He was gone before Emma awoke the next morning, the sound of gulls singing and men shouting rousing her gently, the sunlight shining through the windows warming the cabin and giving her a pleasant glow throughout her body. She was still occupying his cabin and felt absolutely no shame in doing so, though as she stretched languidly on his bed, in another one of his shirts, she half wished he would try to take the space back. Then she could have woken to the sight of him, perhaps shirtless, sitting at his table and doing captainy type things, eating an orange (which he seemed to love dearly), the juice making a mess down his chin. She could have rolled onto her side, arranged her hair so it fell lightly over her shoulder, and coughed delicately, drawing attention to the fact that she was awake. He would look up, eyes sparkling, and smile in that heart warming way that she was quickly becoming accustomed to and cross the room in the two steps and scoop her up off the bed and this time he would kiss her, tasting like oranges and spice and…

She blinked, twice, willing the fantasy to fade away, reminding herself once again that he was a damn pirate. But her internal voice was beginning to sound small and confused and she found herself having say it again. 

_ “He’s a rogue, a scoundrel who cares only for treasure and his own skin, nothing more.” _

_ “But,”  _ a voice sounding suspiciously low and lilting interrupted her,  _ “He did come to help when you were in danger.” _

_ “I had the situation in hand!” _

_ “And you did kiss him….and enjoyed it.” _

She huffed out a breath and ripped the sheets back, standing in a flurry and stalking over to flop in a chair, her good mood now compromised by the memory of Hook’s….. She stopped. No, not of Hook’s, of Killian’s lips. For the man she had kissed wasn’t the fearsome Captain Hook, terror of the seas who took no quarter and had sunk more ships than she could count. The man she had kissed was Killian, a man she was starting to know as caring, charming, protective, and understanding. A man who kept his word once made, who knew she could fight her own battles but made sure to be close by just in case, who could command the attention of a room with barely a word but prefered to remain quiet and unobtrusive. Her arguments stating why getting involved with him was a bad idea suddenly looked flimsy and weak. Why shouldn’t she enjoy kissing Killian? Why shouldn’t she spend more time with him, get to know him better? Maybe even kiss him again?

She groaned and sank her head into her hands, her thoughts swirling in a mess of emotion, her eyes staring unfocused at nothing for several minutes. Until they caught on a starched piece of parchment sitting before her on the table, leaning against a jug of water. It was a note written in impossibly crisp script telling her that Killian was back at the tavern gathering the crew, would be back shortly, and had left a breakfast of fresh fruit and sweet roll for her in the galley. She smiled as she touched the note reverently, holding it up to read his signature. Killian Jones. Ferocious captain and gentleman who had thought of Emma before he left, had thought to fix her breakfast and let her know where he was so she wouldn’t worry. He was an enigma, a mystery, this Killian Jones. A mystery that Emma was slowly realizing she wanted to unravel.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Several pints of ale probably hadn’t been the healthiest drink to have first thing in the morning after a rough night of no sleep, but right at that moment, walking back to the Jolly Rodger surrounded by a somehow still rowdy crowd of pirates, Killian couldn’t find the strength to care. He had spent the entire night valiantly trying to get at least a couple hours of sleep, tossing around on his borrowed bed in the crew’s quarters, until the internal clock every sailor had told him the sun would be rising soon. It was around then that he gave up on any semblance of sleep and simply laid in the bed, arms and legs splayed, sheets thrown on the floor, eyes gazing blankly at the planks of wood above him. The room couldn’t be called warm, not with only one body occupying it, but it still felt much too hot to Killian as his mind wandered to the place it had been trying to get to the entire night. Visions of the events only hours previous were branded onto his eyes and danced in front of him on the slightly warped wood, like a twisted movie that had been designed to torment him specifically. In a never ending loop, he saw Emma in danger; Emma displaying great proficiency with a sword; Emma falling; Emma killing a man; Emma kissing him.

His mind had circled around the images like a crow searching for it’s prey until it finally zeroed in on what it wanted most. Emma’s kiss. He was still in shock from it, still trying to process it, still trying to make it match with the kisses he remembered. While she had tasted the same way his Emma did, felt the same way his Emma did, her kiss had been completely different. It had been tentative, explorative, and more chaste than he was accustomed to. Yet despite the differences, he had been nearly convinced that it was his Swan before him and it had taken every ounce of control he had over himself to not scoop her into his arms and ravage her with his mouth. He’d desperately wanted to delve his tongue into her, taste her, claim her with nothing but his kiss. He’d wanted to hear her squeak in surprise when he coaxed her mouth open only to moan moments later when he pulled back to bite her lip, just enough to sting and provide the opportunity for him to sooth it with a soft lick …

Belatedly he had realized that he had mutated his memory into a fantasy, his mind delightedly supplying the sounds he knew she would make and the expressions to match. He had groaned loudly then and thrown his arm over his face, decidedly ignoring the quickly growing tightness in his pants. He was in trouble, deep trouble, and he knew it, and it had been preciously in that moment that the urge to have a drink (or ten) had overcome him. He’d hastily written a note to Emma saying he was at the tavern gathering the crew and that she should breakfast on the Jolly, thanking his past self for already having breakfast foods ready for her. A shirt he found on the floor of his cabin was thrown on while he resolutely refused to even glance at his bed where she lay and as soon as he was dressed he had taken off for _The Golden Gosling_ , moving as quickly as his sleep deprived body would allow.

The tavern had been quiet in the grey light of early morning, although a bar wench was up and preparing for the day. She hadn’t said a word as she slid a pint of crisp ale towards him when he sat at the bar and he wondered vaguely if he looked as rough as he felt. The answer must have been yes since the wench kept throwing concerned glances at him as she opened up the tavern, but he didn’t particularly care. Didn’t have the capacity to at that moment. Instead he had sat there, drinking, keeping his mind blank through sheer force of will, until at least three hours later when Jack had opened the door and ducked inside with eleven men in tow. They all looked a bit bedraggled, eyes red rimmed and still gummy with sleep, but their clothes were clean and well cared for and they all had blades. Jack easily spotted Killian, now four pints in, and brought the crew over to meet him. Each one shook his hand, introduced himself, and proclaimed loudly how honored they were to have the chance to serve under Captain Hook. They ranged in ages (the youngest looking to be maybe fifteen, the oldest perhaps in his fifties) and body types (from suspiciously scrawny to more buff than a man had a right to be). Altogether they were a sufficient looking crew, each man seeming to be strong in stature and mind, all chosen and gathered together by Jack. In one night he had proven himself to be as good a man as anticipated so Killian had pulled him aside while the men got drinks to tell him he was to be Quartermaster. A pleased flush had crossed his bearded face and a gruff “Thank ye, Captain,” had been his only response.

Now, another two hours later, Killian’s new men were making their way down the docks from the tavern, carrying all manner of provisions for the Jolly, a shanty rising from their drunk mouths. Killian himself walked behind them, slightly less drunk, with a smile on his flushed face. It had been a long time since he’d had a crew to command, a ship to run, and the excitement of preparing to weigh anchor was sending an electric rush through him. It was enough to take his mind off Emma, keep him from thinking about feeling her pressed against him. Or it was until the group reached the Jolly Roger and he caught sight of her leaning against the helm. Every emotion, every desire, that he had been trying to bury under a cover of ale came bubbling back to the surface. Only now he no longer had the protective layer of a sober mind to keep him from acting on his urges.

_ “Bugger it all to Hell.” _

He maneuvered around his crew onto the ship, waving them aboard and shouting out directions to weigh anchor. They snapped to attention immediately, despite their inebriated state, show casing their prowess as sailors. While his crew got to their work, Killian made his way towards the helm. Towards Emma. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he should be hiding away somewhere down below, readying the ship for a new crew, but the section of his brain that normally called those orders seemed to have shut down. His legs and feet (and other parts of his body) had taken control, directing him to where they wanted to be. He stopped once he reached the upper deck where Emma stood and against the rail, crossing his arms and legs. He lowered his head and looked up at her from beneath his lashes, hoping to hide his darkened gaze as he perused her form at leisure.

_ “Gods, she’s a vision.” _

A white shirt flowed over her torso, pulled in at the waist, loose in the arms to provide range of motion. Soft, light brown leather pants and matching boots encased her legs, tight enough to put the strength in her muscles on display. Her hair was tied back again, showing off her neck, the muscles jumping as she swallowed and grabbing his attention. Damn it all but he wanted to feel those muscles, taut as he barely brushed his lips against them, waiting until they were relaxed to bite down and make her hiss before laving the spot sweetly. Heat rose in him the longer he stared, the need to touch her simmering through his veins, urging him to go to her. So he did.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He pushed away from the rail as she watched, his eyes stormy and hungry. She could only assume that she was what he wanted to feast on as he stalked behind her, the hard lines of his body becoming a solid wall at her back. She was effectively caught between a wheel and an extremely hard place, even more so when his hand brushed lightly along her shoulder and down her arm to catch the wheel as it turned. She realized then that they were moving. She hadn’t even noticed before, had been too caught up in the lustful sparkle in his eyes as he’d ascended the steps to the upper deck and then stood there, devouring her with nothing but his gaze. But she did notice now that his left arm and hook remained at his side, leaving her an out should she opt to take it, and she relaxed marginally. Despite the mood he was in he was obviously still thinking of her and her comfort. It brought a small smile to her lips, encouraged her to follow the trust she was forming in him. Pressing her back into him only just, she tested the waters of this mood, trying to gauge where his head was at. The clenching of his hand on the spoke of the wheel told her quite clearly that now would not be a good time to push him.

He leaned closer to her, his scruff tickling the sensitive skin of her ear. His voice was low and jagged, smelling slightly of alcohol, as he breathed out, “Would you like to help me sail?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His hand came to rest on hers slowly, giving her time to pull away, and brought it up to the wheel. He wrapped her fingers around the spoke before covering them with his own, the brush of rough calluses sending a chill down her spine. A low chuckle behind her indicated that he had felt her shiver and he moved an inch closer, pressing into her and forcing her to move forward into the wheel. He didn’t speak another word as he sailed them out of harbour, guiding them gently to open waters. Most of his crew didn’t give a second glance to their captain or the lady in front of him, simply going about their business as directed, though the man Killian had called Smee threw more than one annoyed look at them. Emma wasn’t entirely sure if it was good or bad that his crew was paying them no mind, but the feel of Killian’s nose brushing against a sensitive spot just behind her ear had her thinking  _ “good”  _ as her eyes fluttered shut. She thought could feel him smiling against her skin, his lips pressing lightly enough against her throat that she wasn’t entirely sure. Perhaps she was imagining it, her mind conjuring up the whisper of his breath as he opened his mouth, fabricating the barest hint of wetness as his tongue darted out to lick slowly down her neck. But as he continued she knew she wasn’t because not even in her wildest day dreams could her mind concoct the feel of his lips moving with more pressure to the hollow of her clavicle, nor the sharp pulse of pleasure that ran through her when he gently sucked at the skin there before biting down. Her eyes sprang open and her mouth dropped in a soft “oh”, her breath coming out in a woosh, her skin burning where his tongue swiped against her, soothing the ache from his bite. Her head tilted a fraction to the right without her brain’s permission, providing better access for his mouth and tongue and  _ oh gods  _ teeth.

She felt her breathing changing to soft pants and it suddenly crossed her mind that maybe she shouldn’t have pushed back into him, maybe she didn’t have enough experience to be playing this game with a pirate captain. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care, not when his hand was dragging away from hers to wrap around her waist, tugging at her shirt, dipping low to caress the skin above the waistband of her pants. She sucked in a sharp breath as his nails softly scraped across her and watched, eyes slightly glazed, as his hook came up to take hold of the wheel, leaving his hand free to play, until she suddenly realized why his hook was now in view and huffed out an annoyed breath. The fact that he was apparently still cognizant enough to remember to hold the wheel, even while driving her attention away from anything that wasn’t him, made her straighte, removing most of his access to her neck and stomach. He hummed lightly against her throat, correctly guessing the cause of her ire.

“Don’t be angry, love. First lesson of sailing, hm? A captain must always have control of their ship. Even when presented with….distractions.” His chin came to rest on her shoulder, his beard scratching her through the light fabric of her shirt. She tried to turn her head, intending to tell him where he could stick his control, but he nudged her cheek with his own, pushing her head forward. She could hear the laughter he was holding back as he continued.

“Focus on the wheel, darling. You need to learn the spokes; turning a certain number of them port, left, or starboard, right, dictates where the ship will go. Now,” his hand splayed across her stomach, pulling her closer against him until she could feel his excitement pressing against her, “Repeat back.”

She took a deep breath trying desperately to ignore the evidence of his enjoyment and will the feeling of his hand brushing her stomach and his mouth moving against the tendon in her neck to quit making her melt. Her voice was breathier than she wanted it to be when she replied, “Port to the left, starboard to the right. Turning a certain number of spokes on the wheel in either direction dictates where the ship is going.”

She could feel his smile, a genuine one, against her skin. “Good. Very good.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Killian continued giving Emma small instructions for the next hour as they sailed further from Libertalia, praising her with light kisses, admonishing her with gentle nips when she stopped paying attention. He knew he shouldn’t be doing any of this, and no longer even had an excuse since the alcohol had already worn off enough for him to be back in his right mind. But he didn’t send her away;  _ couldn’t  _ send her away. He was reveling in the feel of her against him, in the taste of her on his tongue, the smell of her hair mixed with the salt of the sea as he breathed in. He would keep her for as long as she was comfortable standing before him. He sighed contentedly, nuzzling her neck for the third time just because she was letting him. Truth be told, he could stay like this forever, sailing his ship and enjoying his Swan. Nothing would be able to take her from his arms, not again.

“CAPTAIN! STORM ON THE HORIZON!”

Nothing except for that. He straightened immediately, regaining his full height, his hand tightening on Emma’s hip. Smee was waving his arms from the crow’s nest, drawing Killian’s attention, and pointing due west. His mood dropped exponentially as he looked for himself and realized that Smee was quite right. A storm, a bad one by the color of the clouds and the increased force of the wind, was blowing straight towards them. It looked like it would hit them within the hour, giving Killian no time to get them out of its path. They would have to ride through it and hope it wouldn’t be as bad as it looked.

He directed his attention back to Emma, turning her to face him, praying that for once she would listen to him.

“Emma -”

“I’m not going below deck. I’m not afraid of a little rain.”

He clenched his eyes shut and took several deep breaths through his nose, willing himself to remain calm.

“Emma, you don’t know what storms at sea are like,” he stopped and steeled his nerves, the taste of what he was about to say already sour in his mouth, “This isn’t a request. It’s an order, as captain, for you to get below deck, in my cabin, and stay there until I came to tell you it’s safe.”

Fire blazed in her eyes as she registered his words, her hands smacking against his chest as she pushed him away lightly. “If it’s so dangerous why aren’t  _ you  _ hiding?”

“Because I’m the captain. I have a duty to this ship and these men.”

“That’s hardly an excuse! I bet any one of these sailors could man the helm!”

His frustration with her sheer stubbornness broke the dam holding him in check, his voicing coming out much louder than he meant it to. “Damn it, Emma, I am trying to keep you safe! For once in your life will you please just listen to me?!”

He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, wanted nothing more than to swallow them back down into the pit of his stomach where they wouldn’t reach Emma, wouldn’t make her face fall, wouldn’t make the fire in her eyes dwindle. Wouldn’t make her step out of his grasp.

“Yes, Captain.” Her voice was soft, barely audible against the rising wind, as she stepped around him. He reached out to grab her hand, to apologize, to explain his fear, but she shook him off, walking down the deck and into his cabin without another word. The moment the hatch had closed over her he slammed his fist against the side of the wheel. It didn’t help, only made his hand sore, but he was still contemplating doing it again. Jack stopped him before he could, grabbing his hand and placing it back on the wheel.

“Orders, Captain?” He made no mention of Emma, focused only on the coming storm.

“Steady as she goes. There’s a small island not far from here, uninhabited but with fresh water. If we can make it there we can stop and ride it out.” Jack nodded once and went off to relay Killian’s orders to the rest of the crew.

Killian kept his eyes on the sky as they sailed, making it another ten minutes before the clouds darkened to coal, the light of the day turning nearly black as night. The storm had rolled in much quicker than he had anticipated, bringing lightning that split the sky open with electricity and cracking thunder, strong enough to rattle bone. Waves of increasing height slammed the ship, turning it off course even as Killian tried to wrangle it. The rain came fifteen minutes after the first flash of lightning, falling in thick freezing sheets that immediately drenched each man to the bone. Killian could barely see through it, was left guessing which direction he was going as he turned the wheel. But he was distracted, his mind not fully focused on the task at hand. He was too busy pleading with every being he could think of that Emma would stay below decks to pay attention to the lightning and thunder, to calculate when it would strike next, and subsequently he nearly got them hit, turning hard to starboard at the last moment. He began counting as the thunder faded, waiting to see where the next strike would be, and had brought his mind fully under control when a small voice sounded through the blasts of thunder and the hammer of rain hitting the deck.

“ _ Killian!” _

He whimpered, begging, pleading,  _ please not her, please don’t let it be her. _

But it was. Of course it was his Swan. She was never one to stay locked away when others were in danger, not when she thought she could help. The lightning was coming down faster, the rain falling harder, a ferocious wind throwing waves over the edge of the ship, as he tried to think of a directive for her, something that would let her help while keeping her out of harm’s way. He never got to give it to her.

She was running to him through the sheets of rain, her hair plastered to her face, her clothes soaked through, her face a mask of fearlessness while her eyes screamed terror. His own were trained on her, willing her to go faster, to reach him before another wave hit, and once more he had stopped paying attention to the lightning, had stopped paying attention to anything but her. She was only halfway to him when lightning struck the mizzen mast. The crack of breaking wood echoed over the thunder and the entire thing began to fall, groaning as it did, rocking the ship when in it the water. Killian turned his eyes back to Emma, who was staring in fascinated horror at the mess of shattered and smoking wood. He didn’t have time to take in the damage. He could feel the sea pulling back, building another wave. He held out his hand to Emma, but she wasn’t looking and she couldn’t feel the wave building.

“ _ Emma! _ ” His scream caught her attention, pulling her eyes away from the ruined mast and back to him and he smiled encouragingly, deliriously thinking that maybe if he could get her to run to him he could protect her from the ocean.

But he wasn’t quick enough. The sky darkened to pitch as a massive wave arched over them before crashing down onto the deck of the Jolly Roger with a tonne of force. Killian lost hold of the wheel, falling to the deck as the sea washed over him, the ship rocking so hard he was afraid it might capsize. When it finally settled he clambered to his feet, searching desperately among the bodies of coughing, sputtering sailors scattered below him for a single blonde head. He didn’t see it. Didn’t see her anywhere. Panic flooded through him, turning his blood to ice. He raced down to the lower deck, a strange ringing in his ears drowning out the sounds of the still raging storm. He stopped when he hit the rail, half bent over towards the water, blinking furiously, refusing to believe he wouldn’t find her.

Another, smaller, wave rolled into them and in it he saw a flash of gold. Emma. Her body was sinking gently down, the ocean pulling her away, seeking to keep her for itself.

“ _ EMMA! _ ”His shriek was louder than the thunder, drawing the eyes of every man on board, prompting Jack to grab a rope and tie it around Killian. He didn’t wait to make sure it was fully tied before climbing on the rail and diving into the water.

The icy fingers of the ocean shot through him, freezing him more fully than the rain, numbing his limbs. He didn’t care. He swam as hard as he could in Emma’s direction, saltwater burning his eyes when he opened them to keep her in sight. His lungs began to protest the further he went, pressure building as his need for air grew, but he didn’t stop. He forced his legs to continue kicking, despite the numb pain spiraling through them. He kicked hard, propelling himself forward until at last his hand closed around her arm. He ignored how cold she was, refused to acknowledge that her mouth was open and her eyes were shut, just pulled her tightly against him and kicked upward. The muscles in his legs screamed at him, his lungs felt like they were going to burst, and it finally struck him that that this might be the end of the infamous Captain Hook.

His legs were still moving, though slower than before, and he knew that should be important but it was becoming hard to remember why. He looked down at Emma in his arms, her face ghostly pale, her lips blue, her hair fanning around her in a halo, and he figured that at least if he was going to die it would be with his Swan. But he had to say...something...had to tell her something...before it was too late….he closed his eyes as his brain struggled, thoughts moving sluggishly, memories converging in a single mass, and trying to pick out what it was he need to tell her was becoming more difficult than hunting the Dark One.

The Dark One. Rumplestiltskin’s face swam before him along with...a woman...which woman? Not the one he was holding….dark hair...not light...Milah! His love. Love? Was that the word? Yes...yes he had loved her….loved….but he didn’t get to tell her...not that last time….not before…

His eyes snapped open. He needed to tell Emma that he loved her, needed her to know that he always would. And he needed to do it somewhere other than in the dark abyss of the ocean. He yanked on the rope tied around his middle. There was a great tug upwards and water began to rush past him until he at least broke the surface, gasping and coughing sea water from his lungs. He gulped in air, his lungs screaming, as his crew hauled him and Emma onto the deck, the rain still pouring around them.

They landed with a heavy thunk and Killian immediately began assessing Emma, despite the muttering of the crew. She was absolutely freezing, colder than when she’d been locked in the ice cave with Elsa, and he couldn’t find a pulse or see her chest rising or hear her pulling in air and panic began to overwhelm him, making his movements sloppy as he kneeled at her chest and attempted to breathe life back into her. He was roughly shoved aside before he even got in a single breath and whoever it was was leaning over his Emma, trying to take her away again, trying to kill his love in front of his eyes  _ again _ , and he couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t watch another woman he loved die. Die...Gods. Emma was dead. His stomach rolled over and he barely made it to the rail before he vomited, saltwater and stomach acid burning their way through his throat and nose. He collapsed on the deck when he was finished, his body quitting on him in protest, his eyes still glued to Emma. He finally registered that Jack was kneeling over her, pushing his meaty hands down on her chest, closing off her nose to breathe into her mouth. He continued going with same tenacity Killian would have if he could make his brain function again, refusing to quit until -

A cough sounded

Another

Emma’s body shuddered and her chest expanded as she heaved in a breath. Jack rolled her onto her side just as she unloaded every ounce of saltwater that she had taken in onto the deck. Killian didn’t care about the mess, would clean it a thousand times over if it meant that Emma was alive. Alive.  _ She was alive _ , breathing, coughing, crying, her chest heaving. He could hear her heart pounding as he scrambled up and rushed to her side, feel it beating against him as he wrapped his arms around her and embraced her as tight as he physically could.

A voice shouted, “Blanket! Get a blanket!”

Another responded, “No, you idiot, it’s still raining! Get them into the cabin!”

Neither voice mattered to Killian. All that mattered was that Emma was alive, alive and gasping in breaths as he stood with her in his arms and limped to the hatch, his limbs only just supporting the both of them. A hand opened it, he didn’t care whose, and he sat and scooted down the ladder and no one said a word. No one moved or spoke or dared to comment that their esteemed captain was scooting on his ass with tears in his eyes and a newly revived woman in his arms.

The hatch closed over them and Killian blinked away his tears as he laid Emma on the floor to remove her drenched clothes, worrying only about getting her and himself warm again. If she wanted to hit him in the morning for stripping her to her underclothes, so be it. At least she would be alive to do so. He pulled down the covers on the bed once they were both devoid of their frigid clothing and scooped her back up. She shivered as he lay her on the bed, her breathing still labored, her skin still colder than ice. He climbed in next to her quickly and pulled the blankets up their necks before wrapping his arms around her and scooting closer until he was flush against her back. He snuggled his head down by her shoulder, his nose against her neck, folding himself protectively around her as best he could, holding her tightly.

_ “She’s alive. Thank gods she’s alive,”  _ was the only thought drifting through his mind as consciousness fled from him, leaving him only enough brain power to whisper, “I love you, Emma Swan."


End file.
